


ignoscite mihi

by Nemainofthewater



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Ancient Rome, Angst, Don’t copy to another site, Extra Treat, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Introspection, Sasha doesn't die, spoilers up to the Ancient Rome sidequest, with some hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21724555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: After everything, Sasha goes back to Rome.The major character death tag does not refer to Sasha! Spoilers up to the end of the Ancient Rome Sidequest.
Relationships: Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam & Sasha Racket
Comments: 16
Kudos: 63
Collections: Rusty Quill Secret Santa 2019





	ignoscite mihi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miri1984](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/gifts).



After everything Sasha goes back to Rome.

It isn’t an easy decision. She has to force herself through the destroyed streets and burnt ruins of the city, ducking out of sight from scavengers and zealots both. That part is easy enough. She’s spent so much time hiding in shadows that it’s almost second nature to her now.

That’s a good thing.

Because that’s the only thing that keeps her going, onward and onward. Feet treading the path that she can never forget, if only because she spends so much time revisiting it in her dreams.

It’s been six months. Six months of terror and desperation and aching grief as she tries to adjust to a time that’s not her own, a language that’s not her own, the dull, throbbing pain in her chest whenever she thinks of her family.

Of Azu, her arms opened wide in a hug. Sometimes when she wakes in the morning, she can feel the phantom sensation of being held, tight and warm and loving, nothing like the restrictive grasp of her uncle.

Of Hamid, all wide eyes and gentle words and unconscious privilege. All hiding a core of steel and determination and self-sacrifice.

Of Bi Ming, one of the people to have trusted her, _her_ , when she was exhausted and covered in blood and wracked with paranoia that her family would find her and drag her back to her old life.

Of Zolf, though she can’t help but feel a pang of bitter resentment even now because he had _left_. It might have been for the best though, considering what had happened to them all. At least he’s safe.

Every now and then she thinks of Wilde. Wonders whether he’s still ok. Or if he’s worked himself into the ground. She’ll sometimes think of a particularly awful joke and carefully preserve it because she knows that Wilde would appreciate it. She doesn’t think about how she won’t have the opportunity to tell them.

(She doesn’t think about Eldarion. She can’t. She won’t. She refuses to be manipulated by the woman now that she’s gone and done something as stupid as sacrificing herself for Sasha. Like she didn’t believe that she could take care of herself.)

Her steps are becoming heavier as she draws closer and she has to quickly duck out of sight when a soldier, dressed in the scarlet raiment of the Cult of Mars, unexpectedly rounds the corner. She freezes. They don’t notice anything is amiss, continuing on their slow patrol. In the past two years, the Cult of Mars have exploded with the fall of Rome, taking control of most of the remaining government infrastructures and evacuating citizens en masse. They do good work; she can’t deny it. Just like she can’t deny the thrill of fear down her back every time she sees them. Every time they prioritise the humans and leave everyone else to make their own way.

Sasha continues onward, slightly more cautious. It has taken her time to return to Rome. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to make the journey again. It is vitally important that she succeeds first time ‘round. She can’t afford to fail.

It’s strange entering Nero’s Palace. Sasha had assumed that it would be one of the most closely guarded and patrolled locations in Rome, but it isn’t. Instead it stands deserted: or at least even more deserted than the rest of the city. Perhaps it’s the air of desolation, of quiet misery that pervades the building. Sasha shivers.

It’s strange. Illogical. But she swears that she can feel the eyes of the long-dead cultists on her, watching her every move. She tenses, drawing her daggers silently. She isn’t taking any chances.

The building proper has very much been destroyed: there are chunks of blasted and blackened stone littering the ground. It’s very still. What stone that hasn’t been rendered dark and soot-stained by explosions is instead a vivid white, the marble as pristine as she remembers. There is no evidence of age: not the strange moulds that have grown on other structures, nor the natural discolouration that comes from such a pale and unpractical stone not being washed at minimum once a week.

The lower levels are intact. More than intact.

The smell of blood and death is thick in her nostrils. She’s used to it. She is. She’s had to be. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t bother her. Apprehension is rising in her gut and turning her limbs to lead. She forces herself onward. For family. For Grizzop.

She rounds the corner and- oh. There they are, the first of the corpses. Expressions of rage and terror on their faces. They are still wearing the clothes they died in and in any other circumstance Sasha would bend down and strip them of anything valuable that they had. Anything that she could use or sell. Here she just hurries on and ignores their richly died clothes and their finely wrought weapons and their bright golden ornaments. They’re not why she’s here.

A few more twists and turns and there he is. Lying peacefully on the ground with his eyes closed. His chest is still pierced by four spears and he’s lying crumpled on one side where she left him all those months ago. Where she was forced to leave him because the city was burning down and if she got killed then what was the point in his sacrifice?

“’Ey, Grizzop,” she says, not bothering to lower her voice. It won’t make any difference. There isn’t anyone to hear her but the dead.

“It’s good to see you again.”

She walks forward and kneels beside him, gently turning him over with hesitant fingers.

“I hate you sometimes, you know?” she says, “I was ready to die. Didn’t think I was going to live much longer anyway. ‘m not the sort of person that happens to. You shouldn’t’ve- you shouldn’t-”

She closes her eyes and the tears leak down her face. She lifts him up and hold him to her chest, uncaring of the blood soaking into her clothes.

“I miss you,” she says, “And- it’s taken me a while. But I’m bringing you home.”

Not home home. But the small abandoned house that she’d found and that she’d camped out in. The one surrounded by trees and wild places: nothing like the city she had spent her entire life, but somewhere she thinks that she can live. The one with a grove of cypress trees so tall and ancient that when she lay on her back and gazed up at them, she couldn’t even see the sky. Since she found the grove a young sapling has sprung from the ground, reaching eagerly toward the sky. Every time she sees it, it’s got taller and taller. There’s a space just in front of it. A small knoll covered in sweet, soft grass. She thinks that Grizzop will like it there.

She opens her eyes and for a brief second she can see Grizzop standing in front of her, outlined in shining silver and looking as happy as she’s ever seen him. He’s giving her a double thumbs up and he soundlessly mouths: “Thanks.”

Then she blinks and he’s gone. But the oppressive misery around her has lifted. She stands and lifts Grizzop carefully in her hands. He’s light- barely weighing anything.

Slowly and carefully and cradling her precious cargo she makes her way out of Rome for the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is Latin for 'Forgive me'
> 
> I am on Tumblr as [Nemainofthewater ](https://nemainofthewater.tumblr.com)


End file.
